This Means Warners
by Mcoov
Summary: When the world goes to war, how will the Warners deal with it?


Opening notes from the author: First, I should remind everyone that the dates listed in the beginning of each chapter are there for a reason. Therefore, if I make a reference – of any kind – that either doesn't make sense, weirds you out, or seems conflicting, there's a reason for that. On a related note, there might be a few characters that will appear out of their respective timelines, but none of these are from A!, or TTA. If a name or description seems to match, it's coincidental. Secondly, I would like to take the time now to apologize for any issues with pacing or situational/emotional handling. This is the first work of fiction I've done of this scope. Thirdly, I'm writing this while trying to balance other things (i.e. high school, pilot school, friends, etc.), so updates are not going to be regular, or even close to it. Fourthly, competent and well-thought-out feedback is much appreciated. Lastly, enjoy the story!

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><p>September 29, 1938<p>

When you're not making cartoons, working as the voice of Toontown's Columbia radio station KTT can be an awesome job. You basically sit in a small room with a microphone and air programs all day – some of which had some really swinging tunes – in between news broadcasts, or you got the news from the telegraph office at the Southern Pacific's Central Station, and when it was time to broadcast the news, you were the crier spreading the word, like when Jesse Owens snubbed the Germans in their own stadium two years ago. Man, what a memorable day that was!

But at the same time, working as the voice for KTT made the noose look mighty friendly – he always kept a prank one in his booth hanging from the ceiling. The world was a nasty place where lots of nasty things happened, things like deaths, industrial accidents, depressing economic and unemployment reports, and politics were what the people wanted to hear about; that's why they were in the broadcasts.

_Politics indeed. No good can ever come of this!_

He would rather have had a stick of dynamite handed to him, or an anvil dropped on his head. At least that way the pain would be over with quickly. This however, wasn't going away anytime soon. According to the telegram he had just been handed, Hitler and Chamberlain had signed an agreement at around 1 in the morning, Berlin time. That was only mere _hours_ ago.

"Whaza matte Yakko, jou look like youze been handed a bomb. Last time I sawz you lookin like dat waz when you got the telegram saying the Hidelboig...no...the Hippo...no...the...that Goiman balloon, that it had blowed up."

"Hindenburg. Sorry Chris, I just can't believe what I'm reading. First the Rhineland, then Austria, now this!" he exclaimed as he smacked the little rectangle of paper with his right hand. "And the worst part is that there's no way Hitler's going to abide by this agreement. He violated the Treaty of Versailles' terms a dozen times over, why should anyone believe that he's going to even consider this one? This is absolutely bizarre. The Czechs are getting hung out to dry! I just can't believe this! It's unreal!"

"Maybe dey'ze just scared."

"Maybe, I don't know!" he yelled as he threw his hands up.

He shouldn't have said that that way. It wasn't Chris' fault that the Czechs had just lost their biggest protective barrier to the Germans, and a country that likely had its tail between it legs. And for a guy who was so isolated from what was going on outside the United States, Chris could be amazingly insightful.

"I'm sorry Chris." he said with an exasperated sigh. "It's late, I've got to go home to a probably worried Wakko and Dot, and I've got to write something up for the morning's broadcast, which means it'll just be an even later night for me. It was annoying enough when I got the news that _they_ had decided not to broadcast Saturday Night Swing Club this Saturday, and this just sent my day down the tubes."

"Iz alright Yakko. Youze just stressed. Heah, have a coke, and get a nice sleep tonoight, alright?" With that, Chris pulled a 10-ounce glass bottle in that oh-so-familiar shape out from the small icebox next to the desk, and undid the cap.

"_A nice sugar buzz might be able to keep me awake from here to the apartment."_

"Thanks. Well, I best be going. See ya Chris."

"Hey, next timez you come in heah, don't be so glum!"

With a smile, wave, and a push on the door, Yakko stepped out onto the street just as a Toontown bound Pacific Electric car was pulling up to the station.

"_Couldn't have timed it better."_

He clambered aboard and took a seat in the back with the other toons. With a swig of his coke, a thousand thoughts inundated his brain. If there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that Europe – and with it the world – was royally screwed.

"_This is gonna be a long trolly ride."_

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><p>Ten P.M., and Yakko <em>still <em>wasn't home. It wasn't like him to be late without some sort of notice, much less ever late at all. Even if he had decided to go skirt chasing on a whim, he'd at least have called and said so. Her brother had an almost annoying idiosyncrasy for being punctual, but now that that habit had been disturbed, she shivered as thoughts of worry engulfed her entire body. Had he been mugged? That big mouth of his seemed to get him in more trouble than he would ever admit to. Or maybe he had...no, that wasn't possible. A man from the hospital would be knocking on their door if _that_ had happened.

"_Get a hold of yourself Dot, you're worrying yourself to pieces!"_

"Hey Wakko! Do you know where Yakko is?"

No response.

"Wakko?"

Again, silence.

She poked her head around the corner to see Wakko sitting intently in front of the radio.

How dare he!

"Wakko! You should be worried about where our brother is, and here you're more concerned about your silly little radio program! The fact that you're not worried is scaring me almost as much as the fact that Yakko is missing!"

The expression on his face was one of absolute surprise and confusion. It was almost disturbingly hilarious. He probably forget she even existed.

"Of course I'm worried." he started. But she was even quicker:

"Yeah? Prove it!"

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><p>(Author's interruption: Again, the date is important in the upcoming dialog. Slappy is not the senile 70-year old living in an oak tree with her nephew, but instead is a rising star of Looney Tunes. See the "Buttermilk" sketch, around eighteen seconds in, to see what I mean.)<p>

Yakko was so caught up in his thoughts that he nearly missed his stop. According to the studio, and what the general public was supposed to believe, he and his siblings had been locked away in the Warner Brothers' water tower four years ago. Of course, all of Southern California knew that this wasn't true, but any farther from L.A. than Bakersfield, he would get remarks about the tower. His personal favorite was: "Does that mean you can breathe underwater?"

Nope, the Warners lived in good 'ole Toontown, and in fact were only one of two on the entire fourth floor of a four-story low-rise apartment building in Pulp Square – the undisputed center of Toontown. There were shops and stands for just about anything imaginable, from the pragmatic to the prank-matic, and some of Toontown's most well-known and respected night lives were within a ten minute walk. Since both the Pacific Electric Red Cars and Los Angeles Railway Yellow Cars converged here, this was one of the only places in all of Toontown where humans could be found, and as such, a strict no-weapons policy was enforced in the square, and a strict no-humans policy was enforced outside the square. Yakko was still amazed he managed to get such a great place.

That's not to say the place was perfect. It had been built in Toontown's earliest days; before every building had an elevator. Yakko had to walk upstairs to get home, and today certainly wasn't a day for expending that much extra energy on lifting his legs.

Assuming correctly that it hadn't already been collected by Wakko, despite it being on his list of chores, Yakko went to collect the mail.

"_Let's see: junk, junk, bill, paycheck, magazine, Dot's junk, letter from Jack, bill..."_

"Hiya Yakko."

And the mail went everywhere. As he whipped around to see who gave him a dozen more gray hairs:

"Jiminey, Slappy! You scared me half to death. When did you get here?" he asked as he bent down to pick up the carnage.

"I just came downstairs and saw you flipping through the mail, and thought I'd say somethin'."

"Yet you didn't make a sound." he said as he quirked an eyebrow. He knew the answer before he even asked, but the words still made it out.

"For the same reason I'm the only female Looney Tune." She said with a slap of her left thigh. "At least you're not as bad as Walter Wolfe!"

"It's probably because he's got the hots for you." he said with a roll to his eyes.

"Ha, and we're supposed to be mortal enemies."

"Right. Speaking of bewitching good looks, you look like you're on your way out. As in," and with a waggle of his eyebrows "_out_ out."

"That's right! I'm going to 'Calamity Canteen' tonight. Harriet Hare and His Orchestra is playing there, and I plan on savoring every moment!"

"It's kinda late...with who?"

"Who said it was with anyone?" she snapped.

"Well, one can't exactly dance alone without looking square. Sorry I asked..." he trailed away.

With a smirk, she replied: "It'll be with whoever has the courage to swing with _this_ squirrel."

"Right, you have fun with that. See ya." again, trailing away.

"You alright Yakko? You sounded...disconnected, as if you just left the planet. And you didn't make any lame puns about swings."

"Right now, _this_ is my problem." With that he reached into hammerspace and pulled out the small demon that other people might call a telegram.

"Nazis again is it?" Yakko responded with a grim, slow nod. He could feel his ears drooping. "Look..." Slappy started, putting her Chesterfield-less arm around his neck, which instantly lightened Yakko's disposition a bit, but not by much, "...don't worry. Whatever happens over there can't hurt us very much. We've got battleships, destroyers, aircraft carriers, and most importantly, over 3,000 miles of ocean between us and the Germans. If another war breaks out, then it's their problem, not ours!" A brief, unsettling silence fell upon the room.

Attempting the break the awkward silence: "Thanks Slappy, you've made me feel better." More silence. "Now, get going, you really don't want to miss the band playing 'Bugle Call Rag'!" With that, Yakko pushed Slappy to the door, and started for the staircase, all the while waving, when he heard her say:

"One more thing, I don't know what started it, but both your siblings are pissed. You might want to get up there before the pies start flying."

And with a loud, exasperated grunt, the mail went everywhere once again.

* * *

><p>"I've already told you four times now, of course I'm worried!"<p>

"It didn't sound like it!"

_Wakko didn't have much of a clue where Dot had come off of to go on this tirade. _

"I'm worried! What must I do to convince you?"

"Show at least one sign of concern!"

"Dammit Dot! I've said it five times now, I'm worried!"

"Sibs! What's all this?"

The arguing had been so loud, Yakko might as well have teleported his way into the apartment. Both he and Dot jumped at the sound of their brother's voice.

"Ohmygodyou'rehome!" screamed Dot as she embraced Yakko's shins with a dive that could've gotten her drafted by the Boston Braves, nearly sending Yakko and the mail flying. "You'd been gone for so long! I was so worried..." At that moment, she changed entirely from a state of relief to poisonous accusation "...unlike _Wakko_ here! He didn't care at all!" He could see the acid in her eyes.

"That's not true!" This was infuriating. Did he have to drive his point home with his mallet?

"Sibs! Quit it before someone ends up an inky smear on the wall, as I know both of you wouldn't think twice otherwise! Look..." continued Yakko, as he leaned against the kitchen counter, arms folded "...I'm grateful that both of you were concerned for my safety, but now it's my turn to be concerned over yours. Now: would you mind telling me what's going on?"

He opened his mouth, but Dot's voice was the first one out.

"_He_ wasn't concerned about you at all! He was so engrossed by his silly German music!"

"Wakko was listening to _WHAT_ now?"

"For the last time Dot, Kay Kyser is _NOT_ German! And of course I was worried, but I was trying not to think about it."

Wakko doubted his brother heard anything past "but", as his sister drowned him out like a steam engine, ranting on about how he wasn't concerned. Thankfully, Yakko stopped her in her tracks.

"Dot, have you ever considered that Wakko might deal with these kinds of situations differently from the way you do? He said it himself: 'he was trying to think about something else, and not my absence.'"

Yes! This was so perfect. Not only did his older brother hear him over Dot's rant, but he was completely right and in the clear.

"And Wakko..." Yakko started, kneeling down to Wakko's height, and placing a gloved hand on his shoulder.

"_Shit, now what?"_

"...when your sister is worried like that, at least acknowledge her worry and existence and try to consul her. It'll help you in the long run. I don't know if you heard her or not, so try and be proactive as well."

There wasn't much he could say to that. Why did his brother always have to be right?

"Wakko?"

"What?"

"You understood my little speech, right?"

"Yeah..." he said, trailing away.

"Again sib, acknowledgment."

"Right..." again, trailing off.

"You alright sib? It sounds like you're _really_ distracted." Yakko said as he stood up to full height. A few spinal pops filled the room as he did so. Dot cringed.

"I was thinking, what if Dot was right? What if I wasn't worried?" Dot apparently concurred, to which Wakko responded with a raspberry.

"Knock it off! Look; Wakko, few know you better than I do, and I _know_ you would've gotten to the point of doing something. Does that make you feel better?"

"But what would happen if you didn't come back?"

"Oh geez Wak. I don't know, I guess you take charge. Really though, there's no need to think about that kind of stuff, alright? Does that make you feel better?"

It did, and he nodded in agreement.

"Good! Now, it's almost midnight, and you two have classes in the morning. So off to bed with both of you. I've actually got some work of my own to do."

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><p>Yakko threw himself onto the green couch, and after the first bounce, he halved his weight and slowly floated back down like an autumn leaf. It was late, at least, according to the schoolhouse clock, whose hands neared 12:20. He tried to focus on his telegram, but his thoughts kept drifting back to his conversation with Wakko.<p>

"_You take charge. With a war almost certainly on our hands, is it really going to come to that?" _

Then Slappy and her little motivational speech entered his mind. Yakko concurred: the United States wouldn't be fighting the Germans anytime soon, it was Europe's problem anyways, and there were too many German-Americans to provoke...again. And toons in the army? It could never happen! He began to laugh at his own worrying.

"_Just mention it as part of the morning lineup. No one in Towntown will care anyways."_

Except him.

Accepting the fact that he was too distracted to continue thinking about worldly affairs, Yakko lazily looked around the room. The apartment was certainly an interesting place, especially when one was alone. It didn't look like that of a Hollywood star, and certainly not like some of Yakko's colleagues, but it was definitely "well-off"; even Toontown had been affected by the crash nine years ago.

The apartment looked fairly normal, because it was. While Yakko did enjoy the strangeness of living in a place where screwball physics reigned supreme, he always maintained that a haven was needed. The rooms were made of screwball-proof material, as his siblings tended not to agree with Yakko's opinion.

The first thing to stand out was the sheer number of framed things on the walls. Some were publicity photographs, others were newspaper clippings and certificates, including Yakko's diploma and Wakko's photo on the front page of the _Inkblot Informer_, while others were more random and personal. Yakko's favorite was a photograph of the three of them – all dressed up – standing in front of a brand-spanking-new American Air Lines DC-3. It was Wakko and Dot's first trip on a plane, and he was there to share it with them.

"_God, I get way too emotional just glancing at that thing."_

In the corner by the window was the radio: a large, oak, Zenith floor-radio – the best anybody could've bought in 1933. A phonograph was perched carefully on top, in front of several shelves full of vinyl records and the occasional book. All the furniture in the room seemed to be trained on these contraptions, and for good reason.

In the opposite corner was a large desk that probably saw more use as a dumping ground than it did a utility. Papers piled high enough to challenge him in a height contest.

The kitchen sported a sink, a wood fired stove converted to burn gas, several cabinets full of flatware and pantry food, an icebox, a small round table with four chairs, and a candlestick telephone on the countertop. It may have been archaic, but it would be a cold day in hell if Dot was going to let him replace it.

Suddenly, Slappy entered his mind, and the minds of everyone else as she made her way upstairs, and from the sounds of it, Hare's trumpet, the bar, and probably enough cigarettes to make Zachary Talyor wheeze hadn't made for the world's greatest mixture.

A loud thump sent Yakko from a slightly annoyed, even humored state, to a panicked run for the hallway.

There she was, on the floor seven feet from her door, but from the looks of it, just dizzy. She was just starting to pick herself off the ground. Yakko felt his heart slow down from the rally pace he had sent it to just before.

"They sang 'Let's Have Another One' didn't they?" He said, folding his arms in disapproval. He liked Slappy, a lot, but he hated to see her like this. Her smoking he could deal with, but her drinking: certainly not. God, if his sibs ever decided to take up either of those things...

A few mutterings about being a smartass later, and Yakko was helping Slappy into her apartment, which all things considered, looked much more Hollywood star-esque and Looney Tunes-esque than the Warners' did. Photographs, posters, autographed material, and awards were everywhere; her coffee table was an anvil, and her lamps were bombs with fuses that didn't run out, and she had a working refrigerator in her kitchen. Even the Warners struck up conversation with the iceman every so often. Not Slappy apparently.

"You know Yakkoooo..." she slurred "...you're a good actor, and a..." sniffle "...a goo...good friend."

"_Man, she's more bent than I thought."_

"Thank you Slappy. Now let's get you to bed before you vomit everywhere. Be sure to sleep with your head over the edge of the bed, I'll come check on you in the morning."

"In fact, you're such a goood friend, that I...I'll take you out dansching."

"Eeehhhhh I'd go for it, but you probably wouldn't remember the offer in the morning. Besides, you're in no condition to do the 'One O'Clock Jump.'"

"You're right..." she said, with a sudden glint in her eye and a sudden smirk "...lesch try someding elshe!" With that, she lunged right at him.

He knew exactly what she meant, and with one fluid movement, he ducked, stepped to the left, and stood up. Slappy dived headlong into the door.

"Nice dive Cavarretta, but you'll need to try hard then that if you want my pants."

Yakko was torn. Here she was, offering something he wanted, but he had already dived out of the way. Should he simply play hard-to-get until she bested him?

"_Come on man, this is one chance you'll never get. Do it!"_

But the other half of him realized: a drunken Slappy was a psychotic Slappy. Would it be enjoyable, or even memorable for either of them? In fact, he'd be surprised if Slappy could tell him apart from Felix right now.

Yakko decided to get the hell out of there, and this was reassured by Slappy drunkenly throwing a lasso at him. It ended up ensnaring the toaster instead.

"With him? Shocking."

While Slappy cursed, a new problem hit Yakko right in the face: Slappy was blocking the exit. Slappy's little excursion with the door closed it, but the bolt was sticking out, preventing the door from _fully_ closing.

Luckily, not only was Yakko a toon who could stretch himself at will, he was also a skilled swinger, and while sliding on carpets is not at all fun, he at least knew how to get the maximum distance out of it.

The only problem now was combining the whole thing into one swift escape. He really only had one shot at it.

That shot was quickly presenting itself, as Slappy managed to free the subdued appliance from her rope.

"Look, Slappy, I appreciate the offer, and I'd certainly go for it if you were sober..." Slowly moving to the left, Yakko lined himself, Slappy, and the ajar door all up.

Slappy now had her lasso up and ready.

She also had a vulnerable stance.

"_Here goes nothing."_

"...but if this is foreplay, than I don't want to know what the rest is like." Yakko charged, and Slappy threw, all at the same moment. He dove as the lasso left her hand, and slid across the carpet and under Slappy, where he stopped most of his body, letting the little part still moving stretch through the crack. The rest of his body followed until he was entirely through the door and lying halfway across the hallway, in his normal proportions.

"_Made i-oh shit!"_

Slappy may have been drunk, but she was still able to realize she'd been duped. He'd have to move fast in order to put himself on the other side of his door. From the looks of it, she'd abandoned the lasso, and resorted to explosives.

Not everything Slappy did made sense.

He had only made it halfway to his heels when a small bomb exploded at his feet, and threw him in the air...right into his door.

The shock from the impact sent him to his knees – again, and Slappy was getting closer, though she couldn't exactly walk in a straight line.

"_Don't wanna know how many tries it'd take with that kind of accuracy."_

Standing up, he put his hand on the doorknob for support and put too much weight on it, turning it, opening the door, and sending him straight back to the floor in a heap.

"_Epitome of grace and elegance right there Yak."_

But the door was open nonetheless, and this was his chance to end the madness. All he needed to do was to close the door just as Slappy dove. If that didn't work, then mallets might be needed.

As he stood up, Slappy looked ready to pounce. She inched forward as he inched back – behind the door.

"Look, Slappy, I've said it once, and I'll say it again..."

She dove, he grabbed the door; and with a jump, slammed it.

"...no!"

A dull thud, and then silence, was heard. His heart pounded harder than a pair of helpers working Sherman's Hill, and he could feel the sweat pooling on his forehead, and under his gloves.

"_You are an absolute idiot Yakko! That was your one chance, and you blew it! Stupid, stupid, stupid, STUPID!"_

"_Damned if you do, less damned if you don't. It was the right choice. Besides, you've got standards, right?"_

"_Standards schmandards, it was still a stupid choice."_

The internal battle ended as he opened the door. There was Slappy, on the floor, with a noticeable bean on her head. Feeling bad for having not only rejected her, but giving her a a mild concussion, he produced a blanket from behind his back and laid it over Slappy.

"_It'll disappear soon, but hopefully she'll be fully asleep by then."_

As he closed the door, a yawn overtook him, and everything suddenly became heavier. There was no doubt about it: he was tired. He considered simply falling limply to the floor and sleeping there, but the very thought of his own bed gave him enough energy to make the walk. Walking into his already dark room, he stripped off his clothes as he walked, crawled into bed, and fell asleep before someone could dangle a pocketwatch in front of his face.

"_Hopefully, Slappy won't hate me."_

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><p>(Post chapter notes: It's a rather rushed ending for the chapter, I know. The rest shall be better.)<p> 


End file.
